Seeking That Which Is Lost
by The Sarcastic Raccoon
Summary: As far as Pyrrah Ananka was concerned, Egypt was a place left firmly in her past. The Carnahan-O'Connell family seem to have other plans, however— ones involving catastrophes of apocalyptic proportions. So what's trickier? Halting the world's end, being unexpectedly reunited with a familiar Medjai... or introducing him to your five-year-old son? (Set during TMR) Ardeth/OC
1. Chapter 1

**SEEKING THAT WHICH IS LOST**

**CHAPTER 1**

_**London. 1933.**_

The village of Walthamstow, nestled snugly in its patch of North-East London, had gone to bed for the evening.

The Crooked Billet pub was switching off the last of its lights on this frostbitten night, and the tramway offices had long since closed. The terrace houses on every street from Valentin Road to Chapel End were locked up tight, every family battening down the hatches to stave off the dark world beyond their front doors.

The red brick homes adjacent to the Walthamstow train tracks were rattled, as usual, by a steam train thundering through the borough. The residents of these houses were used to the aggressive presence of the freight carrier, which passed by at ten o'clock if it was on time.

Most of the people who occupied the stretch of terraced flats that snaked alongside the rail lines slept through the noise without trouble.  
For one little boy, however, the disturbance woke him nightly.

Unfortunately for his exhausted mother, it usually took a lengthy bedtime story to get him back to sleep.

"Freddie, you know it's just the train, don't you?"

Tucked warmly in his bed by the window, five-year-old Freddie stared out at the moonlit train tracks. The railroads were empty now and wouldn't see another train until morning, but he watched them with caution.  
"I had a dream that the roof was falling."

The kettle whistled in the other room, and he heard his mother prepare herself a cup of tea.

"The roof was falling?"

He turned his head as she shuffled back into their shared bedroom, a moving cocoon of woollen pyjamas clutching a steaming little mug.

"Yes," he told her, as she came to sit on the edge of his bed. "It fell down on us and we got trapped."

The woman tutted and stroked her son's cheek reassuringly.

"Oh, poppet, that's not going to happen. You mustn't worry yourself. Try to get back to sleep."

Freddie peered up at her, a twinkle in his big, dark eyes.

"The story, first?"

She sipped her tea.  
"It's late."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please, Mama?"

The little boy smiled cheekily, knowing that she would give in if he did so. He had recently lost his two front teeth, and his words were often accompanied by a soft whistling.

Pyrrah Ananka glanced at the clock on the wall. She sighed.

"Five minutes. You have school in the morning."

Freddie grinned and sunk further into his bed, making himself comfortable for the storytelling that was to follow.

Perry rubbed her eyes, which were hollow with wear as of late. This had become a part of their nightly routine, and it was not a habit she wanted to get into. It was freezing and she was exhausted and she had a ten hour shift at work the next day; the longer she stayed awake, the more precious minutes of sleep she lost.

But her little boy, snug under his thick feather quilt, came first. Freddie Ananka always came first. He was her little prince, the light of her life. And who could say no to that face?

"Alright. Where were we last time?"

"The fire on the boat!"

Freddie had plump, Cupid lips and warm eyes that seemed too big for his head. She kept the jet curls of his hair cut short— lest the English boys he went to school with tease him relentlessly— but she wished she could let it grow long, to his shoulders. She knew that would suit him.

He didn't look like her much at all, she didn't think, but she wouldn't change that for the world. Her little boy was perfect.

"Yes, the fire on the boat, of course," she whispered, and cleared her throat. "So. The librarian is trapped in her cabin with the bad men, and now the room has caught on fire."

"Didn't the man from the prison come to rescue her?" Freddie asked.

"Right, I forgot he was there," Perry said, thinking she was entirely too tired to be racking her brain like this. "What were we calling him?"

"The scoundrel."

She smiled at the boy.  
"The scoundrel. How about we give him a name? What about... O'Brian?"

Freddie grinned. Perry put her cup of tea on the bedside cabinet and pulled her feet up onto the bed.

"O'Brian, firing his gun all over the place, grabs the librarian and tries to pull her into the hall. Oh, did I mention the man with the hooked hand?"

The boy's eyes widened.  
"A hooked hand?"

"Yes, one of them has a hook for a hand! And he has tattoos on his cheeks, like the other bad men."

She swiped her cold fingertips across Freddie's cheeks and he giggled.

"Hook attacks the librarian, so she jams a candle into his eye. He falls back. The room catches fire. The librarian gets away with O'Brian, and they head to the top deck of the ship. Meanwhile, the rest of the boat is waking up to the sound of gunshots."

Pyrrah had started telling this all too familiar story to Freddie a few months ago, in an attempt to get him to go to sleep. The boy was a terrible worrier even at his young age. She usually read to him, but any story would do the trick of putting his mind at ease. It just so happened that this particular tale had become his fast favourite.

"Now, the archaeologist had heard the shouts of his sister, the librarian, and was rushing down the hall to her room," she continued. "But he was very drunk, so he kept running into the walls."

Little Freddie laughed uproariously and slapped a hand across his mouth.  
"He's so silly!"

"He is. That's why he has an assistant to keep him in line. Did I mention his assistant is very clever and pretty?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Right. Well. They find the librarian's room on fire, and the puzzle box is on the floor!" Perry went on.

"The one that's the key?" Freddie checked.

"That's right. From Hamunaptra, the secret ancient city. Mr. Archaeologist tried to get it from within the flames, but then Hook appears out of nowhere and grabs it first!"

Freddie gasped.

"But Hook's robes have caught on fire, and he panics. He runs straight past them onto the deck, where a gunfight is happening!"

"A gunfight?"

"Yes," Perry tells him, and leans in closer. "Those obnoxious Americans are shooting everything. And horses are running everywhere, and the whole boat is on fire. Do you know what O'Brian does?"

Freddie widened his eyes.

"He picks up the librarian and throws her over the edge of the boat!"

The boy's jaw dropped.  
"Why?!"

"Because he's a little bit crazy, but also to save her from the fire. He jumps in after her, and the archaeologist and his assistant do the same. Our heroes plunge into the freezing waters of the River Nile and swim to shore, now stranded in the middle of nowhere."

"In the desert?"

"In the desert."

"Wow."

"Yes, wow," Perry laughed, and leaned forward to kiss her son on the forehead. "But it's bedtime, now. I'll tell you some more on the way to school tomorrow."

Satisfied with that promise, Freddie smiled and wrapped his little arms around her neck for a hug.

"Night, Mama."

"Tesbahey ala khear, my son."

She tucked his quilt tighter around him and brushed his hair off of his forehead.

"Do you know how much I love you?" she asked him, quietly.

He smiled and then shook his head.

"Well. I love you more than all of the cities, and all of the seas, and all of the books in the world. I love you more than all of the words in all of the books, in fact! More than the rivers and the mountains and the sun and the moon."

Freddie smiled and his teeth whistled.

"My little Faruq, I love you more than every single star in the sky," Perry told him, and tapped the end of his nose with her fingertip. She got off the bed and picked up her cup of tea. "Now. Get some sleep. And don't worry about bad dreams."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

"Are you sure you're going to be alright without Alexander? I can take you straight to Mr. Carnahan's house if you'd like..."

Every morning at six o'clock, Pyrrah and Freddie used the Markhouse Street tramline to get further into the city of London.

Freddie was attending the same school as Alexander O'Connell, a privilege that would surely not have been afforded to the younger boy had it not been for the kindness of Jonathan Carnahan.

It was his second week at St. Augustus' School for Boys, a respected educational institution with the hefty tuition fees that most such private schools demanded.  
Jonathan Carnahan was paying for the boy's education out of the kindness of his own heart; he insisted that he had nothing else to do with the money but feed his gambling habits, and Freddie was of the utmost importance to him.

"I'll be fine, Mum."

The O'Connells had up and left for Egypt the prior week, however, inspired suddenly to excavate a temple in search of some particular lost artifact. This wasn't unordinary for the family, but it meant that Freddie was without company at school until they returned.

"I do worry about you, poppet," Perry sighed, and gave his hand a squeeze. They had just stepped off the tram and were heading along a pavement dusted with frost. "You're a very precious little thing."

"You said you would carry on with the story now, remember?" Freddie reminded her, giving her arm an impatient tug and ignoring her worried mumblings.

He looked adorable in his school uniform, she thought. It was comprised of Alex's hand-me-downs, but he looked like a little gentleman in his miniature blazer and tie.

"Right. Quickly then, because we're nearly there," Perry muttered, and checked the time on her wristwatch. "O'Brian, the librarian, the archaeologist and his assistant all begin a treacherous journey through the Sahara to try and find the lost city of Hamunaptra."

"What happened to the boat?" the boy chirped.

"Oh, the boat went up in flames and sunk. The little Hungarian man— did I mention him? Well, he and the Americans swam to the opposite bank of the Nile, and they had all the horses. But they were on the wrong side! So that gave our heroes an advantage."

It was a bright, crisp morning now, and church bells were ringing through the cloudless sky to signal seven o'clock. Perry and her son could hear the rush of the River Thames on their walk every morning, even though the famous water was out of view. She liked that. Living next to a famous river gave you the chance to mentally pinpoint yourself on the globe, whether it be the Nile in Cairo or the Thames in London; one day she might settle by the Seine, just to add it to her list.

"Unfortunately that dreadful, smelly prison warden had tagged along with our heroes, so they had to put up with him on the journey," she told Freddie, and he snickered. "They travelled across the desert, not knowing that they were being watched the entire time."

"By who?"

"By strange men with tattoos on their faces," she said, waggling her fingers at him.

"Like the baddies on the boat?" he asked.

"Precisely. These men were not actually bad, though. They had a job to do. They were warriors, and for thousands of years it had been their responsibility to keep the lost city of Hamunaptra hidden. Do you know why?"

There was chatter outside of St. Augustus', for hundreds of boys were making their way into the building for their first classes of the day. Some of the mothers of the students, gathered to chat across the street from the grounds, stopped speaking when Perry walked by.

"Why?" Freddie pressed.

"Because a creature was kept inside Hamunaptra."

They stopped on the front path and she knelt down to straighten his tie and tighten his shoelaces. The boy was wide-eyed.

"What sort of creature?"

Perry made sure his hair was in place and then calmly looked him in the eye. After a second's pause, she whispered,

"A mummy."

The bell rang out from the school, alarming all of the schoolboys into running for the great stone building.

"Go on, I'll tell you some more later," she told Freddie, quickly snapping out of suspense-mode. She smacked a kiss on his cheek and sent him on his way. "Be a good boy today. Uncle Jonathan will pick you up at three o'clock, alright?"

The boy twisted his little hands around the strap of his satchel as if it were a source of courage, smiled at her and then ran off to join his classmates.

* * *

The Fairweather Fudge Factory employed four hundred women from the Greater London area. For twelve hours each day, working-class ladies between the ages of thirteen and sixty-five prepared the sweet delicacies produced by the company.

Fudge, chocolate, fruit pastels and various other treats were melted and mixed, molded and wrapped and boxed ready for shipping across the United Kingdom.

Pyrrah had worked in the factory for three years, hand-wrapping individual cubes of fudge alongside forty-nine other women.

She wore a white dress and pinafore every day, as the uniform guidelines dictated, and pinned her hair up neatly like all of her coworkers.  
She hadn't worn her hijab in five years. By her fifth month of pregnancy she had given up such an act of faith, since the reflection of the unmarried mother-to-be in the mirror— still covering her hair to avoid sinning but swollen with childbearing— had become a horribly ironic image.

Today was the same as most days for Perry. The work was meticulous and repetitive, and a pounding headache was brought about by the overwhelming noise of the factory machines.

Jonathan often remarked that she had lost a considerable amount of her hearing ability since she began working at Fairweather's.

"Ugh," moaned Helen Franklin, a small blonde woman who had wrapped fudge to Perry's left for seven months now. "I thought they had some blokes in last month to fix those ruddy machines."

Perry shook her head.  
"They say that every now and again to keep us hopeful. If the machines aren't broken, they're not going to fix anything."

"I can't stand it no longer," Helen whined. "Me husband says he's getting promoted soon, and soon as that happens I'm a ghost. Squeeze out his idiot kids if I 'ave to, I'm not coming back here!"

"Mind yourself, Helen. If Mr. Brimley hears you, you won't have much of a say in the matter of leaving," Perry said, as quiet as was possible over the mechanical racket.

The blonde woman's shoulders dropped and she carried on working through her fudge-cube mountain.

Personally, Perry thought the job was quite comfortable. It was warm inside the factory, and she was paid eight pounds a day for her work. Fifty-six pounds a week was just enough to keep she and Freddie housed by the railway in Walthamstow, clothed and fed and far from their former London residence within the slums of Bethnal Green.

"Do you have the time?" Perry asked her, after a moment.

Helen checked her wristwatch tiredly.  
"Three o'clock. Your little lad ought to be getting out of school now, eh?"

Two hours and she'd be off. Tonight she'd be heading to the Carnahan-O'Connell estate to pick up Freddie, who she prayed would survive in Jonathan's care. She had telephoned Mr. Carnahan that morning, but hadn't actually seen him in person for a week or so now. With Evelyn out of the country he could be up to anything, embroiled in all kinds of bother.

"Hmm."

"What does his dad do then, if you don't mind me asking?"

Perry finished twisting the foil ends of a fudge wrapper and blinked.  
"I beg your pardon?"

"Your husband. I ain't never heard you talk about him," Helen inquired, quite innocently.

Pyrrah straightened her posture and picked a random answer from her mental collection of white lies.

"Well, right now he's back in Egypt. He's a sailor, you see. Works mostly in our cotton exports."

"Oh, a sailor," Helen acknowledged, with some sort of approval. "I get you. Me husband's a docker himself, so he's always telling me 'bout these blokes that come in from Africa and India and places..."

The blonde began chattering away about her husband and his work and the stories he told her of the men he met.  
Perry drifted in and out of the blabber, her mind wandering to the aching soles of her feet and the never-ending pile of fudge on her worktop.

_Just two hours to go._

A normal day, unraveling as plainly as possible within the most normal of weeks.

But that's usually the way things are going when something drastically out of the ordinary occurs.

"Ms. Ananka?"

Helen abruptly shut up. The four women closest to Perry's workstation glanced over in curiosity.

Perry turned around.

"Mr. Brimley," she addressed their stout supervisor. "How can I help you, Sir?"

Red-faced Mr. Brimley stood with his hands clasped behind his back.  
"We have received a phone call from a Metropolitan police constable," he informed her, dryly. "He said it is an urgent matter regarding your son."

* * *

Jonathan Carnahan was not having a good day.

It had begun at noon, his bad luck making its presence known when he awoke with a hangover worse than death.

Apparently, amid his liquor-drenched shenanigans the previous evening he had gambled away one thousand pounds.  
A loss of unfortunate timing, since he was due to repay the last fraction of a sizeable debt with that cash today.

The man he owed the money to was known well for breaking the legs of those poor fellows who didn't pay him back in time, and so Jonathan had spent the morning hiding in various nooks and crannies around the city of London.

Of course, he had an abundance of money to his name with which to pay the man back. But that money was in the bank, and getting to the bank was much easier with your kneecaps still in tact.

During his time in hiding, a drunken man fresh from a seedy pub recognized dear Mr. Carnahan as the scoundrel who had bedded his wife last summer, and proceeded to bloody Jonathan's nose. The drama that ensued almost resulted in an automobile running him over, and this had all happened by two o'clock.

And what's the cure to such a terrible, horrible start to the day?  
Alcohol.  
Lots of alcohol.

It solves all the problems that the very same beers, wines and spirits themselves caused... until you're more than a little smashed, flirting with a blonde showgirl named Sheila, and you suddenly remember that you have to pick up Freddie Ananka from school.

Jonathan had hastily driven to St. Augustus' to collect Perry's son, and the two of them began the journey back to the O'Connells' house. The booze, the speedometer and the other cars on the road didn't mingle well, however, and when things got overwhelming Jonathan forgot the difference between the brake pedal and the accelerator.

His maroon Duesenberg Model J smashed right into the back of a boat-tail roadster, and he was knocked unconscious as smoke began rising from the car bonnet.

_"Jonathan!"_

Now, he was sitting in the charge room of the Cannon Row Police Station, waiting for his head to stop spinning. The five year-old he was responsible for sat in silent shock in the chair at his side.

Jonathan felt rotten and sick and very sore, and then Perry clip-flopped her way towards them and he realized everything was about to get a hundred times worse.

"What on earth happened?!" she screeched, and rushed to take her son in her arms. "Freddie, my dear, are you okay?"

Jonathan wished somebody— _anybody_— would be as concerned for his well being. He had a broken nose and a concussion, yet people only felt anger towards him. Where was the sympathy?

"I banged my head," Freddie told his mother, who brushed his fringe of curls aside and gasped. There was a large purple bruise swelling up on his forehead. Jonathan shifted in his seat.

"Perry, darling, might I start by letting you know that—"

_"Ebn el sharmoota!"_

He flinched in fright and stopped speaking. She shot him a look so thunderous it might have turned him to stone.

"How could you be so irresponsible?" she hissed, and took Freddie by his hand.

Jonathan placed his palm over his eyes and rubbed them tiredly.  
_I'm just having a bad day._

"Come on," Perry sighed, and waited for him to look at her. "Let's take you home."

* * *

People that grew up in affluent families— people like Jonathan and Evelyn Carnahan— never had much of a need to use public transportation, and might easily turn up their noses at such a common-folk way of getting around.

Perhaps the Carnahan siblings weren't quite so snobby as others in their societal class, but Jonathan certainly felt out of place as he rode the tram home.

Freddie fell asleep on Perry's shoulder, who herself was much too annoyed to become the slightest bit drowsy. She stared angrily out of the window and stroked her son's head, but Jonathan wished she would pay some attention to the toothless man he was sat next to. The man—covered in some film of grime from head to toe—was staring at him very closely and intently, to such a degree that Jonathan could feel his musty breath on his neck.

The tram didn't smell nice, none of its passengers looked particularly well to do, and quite frankly he felt unsafe. It was no wonder it only ran to the outskirts of Rick and Evy's neighborhood, leaving them to walk the last mile or so as the sun set.

"You know, you could actually take care of this house while your sister is away," Perry remarked, taking her coat off once they were inside the grand home.

Jonathan collapsed onto the first couch he could reach.

"That's what maids are for, darling," he mumbled into a cushion.

Perry began switching on lamps, of which an abundance were needed to light the labyrinth of rooms. The O'Connell house smelled of peppermint and pipe tobacco, and that other sort of dusty smell that lingers in stately homes passed down through generations of blue bloods.

"Ugh, nothing here has been cleaned in a fortnight, Jonathan. For goodness' sake…"

Perry ran a finger across the top of a cabinet and wrinkled her nose at the grey powder she picked up.

"Oh, give me a break, would you? I've had a bloody awful day," Jonathan moaned, fidgeting and rolling around on the sofa until he found a comfortable lounging position.

Freddie, who had been busy untying his laces by the door, finally kicked off his shoes and made a beeline for the lounge.

"Mr. Carnahan, there is a very simple solution to all of your earthly problems. It involves the polite decline of many a drink," Perry called to him.

"Sweetheart, if it were that easy to cut booze out of my life, I'd—UGH!"

Freddie leapt onto the sofa, ramming his knees straight into Jonathan's abdomen.

"Oh, careful there, chap," he croaked, winded slightly. The boy giggled. "Uncle Jonny's not up for a fight this evening…"

Perry switched on the light in the kitchen. Her mouth fell open.

There was flour everywhere, dirty dishes stacked high on every countertop, the pantry ransacked and various rich foods left out to ruin.

Back in the living room, Freddie near enough shoved a finger up Jonathan's nose. "Your nostrils are red," he said.

Jonathan frowned and sniffed.

"Oh, yes, I was in a bit of a scuffle earlier. Codger left me bleeding," he sighed, and searched his pockets for a handkerchief. Finding one proved quite difficult, however, as Freddie was still kneeling on his chest.

"Did you tell a policeman?" he asked.

Jonathan wiped his nose and scoffed.

"Tosh! Old Jon took care of it himself. Left the bloke black and blue. I was a bare-knuckle boxer when I was younger, you know. Champion."

Perry appeared at their sofa and looked at him in deflated scorn.

"What happened in the kitchen?"

Jonathan paused.

"Oh, right, that," he slowly remembered. "Yes, I had some lady-friends over and they had the bright idea of making pancakes. But in that thin way, like they make them in France, you know? Crêpes, I think they call them."

"It looks like it was hit by a bomb," she said.

"Hmm, yes, I'll have to clean that up in the morning. Evelyn will be home tomorrow afternoon, and—"

Perry's eyes went wide.

"The O'Connells are back _tomorrow_?"

"Yes, Evy telephoned me today from Le Havre. Said something about a bit of a calamity in a temple, they left Egypt a while ago…" Jonathan muttered, not particularly excited by the subject.

Perry looked at the clock on the mantle. It was nearly six o'clock, now, and Jonathan already looked prepared to hit the hay. He'd wake up late tomorrow with a terrible hangover and a thoroughly bruised body, which meant the house would remain in this sorry state for a considerable amount of time.

Evelyn and Rick had been away for a good two weeks. What a depressing sight to return home to.

"Well, in that case I'm going to do a bit of cleaning around the house," she calmly told him, and patted him reassuringly on the arm.

"Oh, don't be tidying up now, Perry. Leave it to me, I'll just get it done in the morning," Jonathan said around a yawn.

"It's not a bother, Mr. Carnahan. You just do me a favour and keep Freddie entertained."

* * *

_Arabic:_

_Ebn el sharmoota – Son of a bitch_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

The following day was a Saturday, and so Perry worked only half a shift at Fairweather's. She was back home in Walthamstow before Freddie was out of school, and was just preparing herself a cup of tea when the telephone rang.

She eyed the receiver and sighed. Jonathan.

"Hello?"

"Perry, I need your help."

Apparently, as he grew older, Jonathan Carnahan became more and more childlike.

_What does he need now? His laces tying? A dose of cough syrup? Yoyo untangling?_

"What's the matter?"

"My car's been impounded, but I need to go to the bank to draw out a thousand pounds. Don't ask why."

"Why?"

"You twisted my arm. I owe a man some money, and if I don't get it to him right this second he'll take an axe to my shins," he explained.

Perry sighed and stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea.

"Oh, Jonathan."

"I know. I also have a date tonight, and I need to pick up my suit jacket from the tailor's."

"A date? Really, Jonathan? _Really?_" she bit, exasperated entirely with the man.

"I know, I know, I'm an absolute dumbbell. But you figured that out twelve years ago and you still stuck around. Help me?"

Perry put the receiver down and took a last, tempting sip of her cup of tea.  
"Well," she mumbled to herself. "I'm not driving an automobile, if that's what he wants."

* * *

"You want _me_ to drive an automobile?!" she hissed at Jonathan, who was drumming his fingers on the hood of Rick's car.

"Come on, O'Connell won't mind!" he assured her in a manner all too jolly for someone in his position, and fumbled for the keys in the pocket of his wax jacket.

It was a nippy, foggy morning in London, so much so that the rooftops and chimneys of the O'Connell estate were concealed by a thick mist.

"Mr. Carnahan, I do not drive."

"A monkey could do it, Perry! Now, get in the car. You're a capable lady and I'm still a little bit drunk."

She scowled and marched over to the driver's side, the driveway gravel crunching beneath her feet.

"Rick's going to kill us. Hold my purse." She thrust her clutch bag at Jonathan, who exchanged it with the car keys.

Perry fumbled around for a while and then managed to start the engine. Judging how much pressure to apply to the gas pedal was trickier than one might imagine, however, and she nearly drove them into a tree.

"That's alright, darling, I did that very thing yesterday," Jonathan reassured her, laughing nervously. "The brake is on _that_ side, just remember that..."

Soon enough they were cruising towards central London, though Perry drove so slowly that Jonathan nearly nodded off in the passenger seat.

"You know, if I didn't owe you my life— and Freddie's— I might have stopped doing silly things like this a long time ago," she grumbled. "I'm not your assistant anymore."

Jonathan put his hands behind his head and stared out at the gloomy sky.

"You had a perfectly good opportunity to shake me off your tail about six years ago, darling, but you still came crawling back to old Jonny."

"I did not come 'crawling back'."

"No. But you showed up on my doorstep penniless with a very special parcel in your tummy," he reminded her. "A situation that still remains a mystery after all these years of my generosity..."

"Mr. Carnahan, how many times do I have to tell you that my business is my own and I do not owe you any explanations?" she asked him.

"Well, gosh, you'd think you could give me a few answers, old girl!" Jonathan suddenly blurted out with surprising vehemence. "Bloody hell, I don't know what to tell that lad of yours anymore."

Perry paused.  
"Freddie?"  
"Yes, Freddie!"  
She frowned. "Why do you have to 'tell' him anything at all?"

Jonathan crossed his arms.  
"He asks questions."

_Questions?_  
"He doesn't ask _me_ questions," Perry said, quietly.

Jonathan let out a sigh.  
"Just last night, while you were cleaning the kitchen, he asked me about his father."

A heavy knot tied itself up in her chest.  
"...Does he ask things like that often?"

"Frequently steers the subject towards his question-mark parent, yes," he told her.

There was a beat of silence.

"I suppose this was inevitable," she muttered. "What do you tell him?"

Jonathan laughed.  
"I usually try to change the subject! Fact is, I haven't the faintest idea of what to tell him, because you refuse to answer _my_ questions."

Perry parked the car outside of the bank. She and Jonathan sat and gazed out of the windshield at the gunmetal coloured sky.

Gigantic storm clouds were drifting in from the west, meaty and ominous in their approach. There was a strange sort of electricity in the air today, an unnaturally tense atmosphere abuzz with the promise of bad luck. Something was going to happen. They could both feel it.

"I suppose I'll have to have a chat with Freddie."

"Sounds smashing," Jonathan said tiredly, and opened his door. "And then maybe you could fill me on the rest of the details... You know, the saucier ones."

If he hadn't slid out of the car so quickly she would have certainly smacked him, perhaps up the back of his head.

"Do shut up, Mr. Carnahan. And hurry up in the bank. I would prefer it if Evelyn didn't return home to find her brother's legs mangled by an axeman."

* * *

The rest of the day was spent running Jonathan's errands, of which there were a few more than he'd previously advertised. They collected Freddie from school, and then returned Rick's car to the O'Connell estate. Perry locked it and tossed Jonathan the keys.

"Thanks for helping me get everything sorted before Old Mum gets back. You're a life saver, Perry."

"No trouble at all, Mr. Carnahan. Now, we best be off. It's Freddie's bath night, and I have laundry to do," she said, and took her little boy by the hand. "Don't get into trouble on your date tonight, okay?"

Jonathan scoffed.  
"Trouble? Me? Tish tosh!"

Freddie giggled, and they set off home.

It was a half-hour walk at least from the Carnahan estate to Perry's flat by the Walthamstow train tracks. Darkness fell on the way, but Walthamstow was a decent area of Greater London and she knew they'd be fine if they hurried along.  
She'd much rather walk down St. James Street with a young child than the dusty, dangerous streets of Embabeh, her previous place of residence in Cairo.

"I'm the best in my class at arithmetics," Freddie was telling her, loudly and enthusiastically, as they finally ascended the stairs to their flat. "The teacher says so."

"Well, that's because you're a very intelligent young man," Perry said, and stuck her hands into her pockets to retrieve her house keys. They stopped at their door, the front of which bore a rusty number seven.

"I'm even better at arithmetics than Collin Ashton, Mum."

"That's wonderful, sweetheart..."

Perry opened her jacket and searched the pockets of her cardigan. The pockets of her seersucker dress were empty, too.  
Freddie yawned and leaned against the closed door. She looked at him.

"Where are the keys?" she asked. He shrugged.

Suddenly she remembered that she had left the house with a purse that day, which had been handed to Jonathan when they set off for the bank.

"The keys are in my purse. I gave my purse to Mr. Carnahan."

"Where did he put it?" Freddie asked.

"He... He must have left it in the car," she concluded.

Mother and son shared a look of despair.

"Does this mean we have to walk all the way back to Uncle Jon's house?"

* * *

They _did_ walk all the way back to the O'Connells' house.  
And about five minutes into their journey those rumbling thunderclouds finally split open, releasing all of the tension that had been building throughout the day.

Heavy sheets of icy water pelted Perry and Freddie, soaking their clothes so densely that they became a second layer of skin.

"I hate this country," Perry whispered to herself. She was shivering, and her son's teeth were chattering by the time they reached the spacious grounds of the O'Connell estate.

Blinking through the rain, she quickly noticed that all of the house's interior lights were switched on, square eyes of bright yellow peering at them in the darkness. Then she saw two unfamiliar cars parked in the driveway.

"They're home!" Freddie called out.

Perry squinted at the picture before them and then shook a finger at the boy.

"...Let's be quiet, poppet. We don't want to interrupt anything."

Three explanations had sprung to her mind regarding the picture before them.

One: Rick and Evelyn had taken two taxi cabs home, a second one needed to transport excess luggage or a large archaeological find.

Two: Jonathan had returned home with his date, the manic husband of whom had trailed the lovers here and intended to gruesomely murder them both.

Three: the man to whom Jonathan owed money had shown up to break his legs. In which case, Jonathan was probably held at gun-point right now, insisting he was going to 'pay him back on Tuesday'.

"I'm cold." Freddie tugged at her fingers.

"Right. And we need our keys," Perry muttered. Above all, she needed to know what was going on inside that house.

Keeping to the outskirts of the driveway where gravel met grass, she guided Freddie around to the scullery door and tried the handle. It popped open.

"Looks like we're in, darling," she whispered, and ushered Freddie into the darkness beyond.

In the quiet of the scullery, she blindly removed her sopping wet coat and Freddie's school blazer. To warm him up, she took off her relatively dry cardigan and wrapped him in it.

"Okay, listen to me," she whispered, when all the shuffling was done. "I know it's dark in here, but I need you to be a brave boy and sit tight."

"Why?" he whispered back. "What's going on?"

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she sat him down on the floor beside the substitute stove.

"Well, the O'Connells have been travelling, so they're probably asleep. I don't want to wake them up," she lied. "But we need the keys. So while I look for them, you stay perfectly still and don't move a muscle. Sound good?"

She heard him nod, his shirt collar rustling against his chin.

"Good boy."

Perry crept out of the scullery and into the kitchen, gently shutting the door behind her. The next door, leading out to the dining room and library and lounges, was illuminated at the edges. She could hear voices beyond.

She slunk over and listened.

"Alex, I'm serious, if you've lost that key you're grounded."

Relief. It was Evelyn. Her voice was hard to make out— she was likely in the far living room— but it was definitely her. Perry's hand shot to the doorknob.

"I haven't lost it, I just can't find it, there's a difference."  
And there was young Alexander.

"Well you better start finding it, then."

Perry pulled open the door just a crack, and spied Evy in the lounge as suspected. She was crouching, wrestling with something apparently glued to her son's forearm.

"Calm down, mum, there's nothing to worry about," Alex was saying, and Perry was about ready to step into the hall and let them know she was there.

Then, however, a new figure entered the picture. Emerging from the corridor, Perry spotted the man clad in scarlet and burgundy and her relief curdled into a fear she hadn't felt in years.

"Good evening."

That voice, deep and smooth and menacing, puckered frightened goosebumps all along her forearms.

Lock-Nah, high-ranking member of the Cult of Imhotep, was standing in the O'Connells' living room.

One of Perry's least favourite people in the entire world, schadenfreude permeated every inch of this massive man; it vibrated within his cold aura, swam in his eyes and curled his cruel grin.

She saw Evy rise to her feet.  
"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

_What _is_ he doing in her house?_ Perry thought, alarm bells blaring in her mind. _What's going on? Where's Rick? Where's Jonathan?!_

Was Lock-Nah alone? Not likely. If she knew the Cult of Imhotep— which she did, unfortunately all too well— their red-robed soldiers were probably patrolling the house and grounds that second, spreading out like a hungry contagion.

_How did they find us?!_

"I am looking for the chest, of course," Lock-Nah told Evelyn. Perry saw Alex pick up a large, golden box and protectively cradle it. "Give it to me."

Perry didn't know what that chest was, nor did she know why Lock-Nah was here. But she did know that she had to think fast.

She shot a glance at the scullery, then drew a breath and stepped out of the kitchen.

Nobody in the living room even came close to noticing her, as Evelyn had drawn a sword from a wall display of fine weaponry. She couldn't decide whether such a move was smart or utterly insane.

Regardless, she scurried into the study nearby and frantically glanced around for some sort of weapon or aid.

"Get out of my house," she heard Evy warn.

There was a telephone on the desk. _Call the police._ Perry yanked the receiver off its holder. As soon as her fingers shot to the dial, however, a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

She spun around, ready to punch or slap, claw or scream at her assailant.

But she wasn't faced with any sort of red garb. No cult member had been waiting to attack her. Instead, robes of black hung thick before her, cloaking the figure that now gazed down at her with overwhelming surprise.

And all too suddenly, she found herself barely present enough to gasp.

The receiver fell from her hand, dropping straight to the floor and nearly jolting the chord out of the telephone.

"Ardeth?"

It was, indeed, Ardeth Bay.

And the man could not have looked more lost.

"Pyrrah?"

Perry fought the instinct to raise a hand and touch him, to prod him and ensure that he was actually physically there.

Five years is long enough for somebody to become a ghost in your mind, a memory whose face is blurred in your mental photographs. If you work really hard at forgetting about somebody—wade tirelessly through the swamp of lovesickness, regret and maddening longing that floods your heart day by day—you can eventually put them out of your mind altogether.

Finally, a day comes where you don't think about that person once. That day, long-awaited, marks your entry to freedom from the past.

Such a day had come and gone for Perry a while ago. And in the span of just one second, half a decade of personal battles had just gone up in smoke.

When somebody you've grieved over is standing just inches from your fingertips, it's impossible to say they're still dead to you.

"What are you doing here?" she heard herself whisper.

Her head was a hurricane of panic and disbelief; for an instant she wondered if her words had formed themselves correctly, and searched Ardeth's face for the appropriate reaction to gibberish.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he replied, apparently having understood her well enough.

Here was a man who might have been plucked this morning from 1927, placed in front of her largely unchanged and very much alive.

Over five years of separation, yet Ardeth Bay looked the same, spoke the same, smelt the same, blinked the same.

There was a clatter from the adjoining room, and Perry's thoughts flashed back to Evelyn and the intruders. Trying desperately to get a grasp of what exactly was happening here, she asked Ardeth what was going on.

Apparently he was too stunned to focus, for he spent a moment just frowning down at her.

"Go and find O'Connell," he finally instructed her, as quietly as was possible. "Quickly. Upstairs."

She nodded, knowing questions could be answered later. The Medjai swept past her but stopped by the study entryway.

Looking back, he informed her of only one thing.

"Meela Nais is here."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Perry made a dash from the study to the nearest staircase. Her heart was in her ears and her stomach was in knots.

Ardeth, thankfully, had gone to assist Evelyn and Alex, who were now surrounded by a large number of red-robed cult members.

_What on earth is happening?_ She kept thinking to herself, repeating the question with each step taken.

It was as if somebody had taken her back in time six years, but forgotten to remove all of the... _minor_ _details_ brought about by her current life.

As to why the Cult of Imhotep were here, she could only assume that that golden chest— or whatever lay within it— contained something of great importance to their plans, and the O'Connells had snagged it on their travels.

She didn't have time to ponder the situation further.

Catching sight of Rick in a room at the end of her corridor, she sped to his side with a little too much haste.

"— But this is my house," he was saying, "I have certain rules about snakes and this—"

She stepped through the doorway and shrieked, as a writhing black snake was launched across the room towards O'Connell.

"Rick!" she yelped.

"Perry!" cried a voice, and she looked over to see Jonathan nearby. He was sitting in a chair, petrified, and she didn't blame him: the man stood beside said chair was holding a blade to his throat.

"Jonathan?!"

Rick caught the snake— an asp— and held it securely at both ends, away from his face. The reptile bared its fangs angrily.

Perry looked towards the troupe of people that surrounded Jonathan and spotted a few familiar faces. But Baltus Hafez, the one man she could immediately pin a name to, was hardly the focus of her attention.

"Meela."

Looking as frightfully elegant and overtly ostentatious as ever, the queen of the cult herself was stood in their presence. Her silhouette partially distorted by a feather boa and shadowy netting, Meela Nais might have appeared a dark phantom; a slim slice of the underworld embodied very perfectly before them.

"You know her?!" poor Jonathan managed to ask.

"Shoot them!" Meela cried— as always, welcoming Perry to the party in only the warmest of ways— and a soldier with a gun whipped out his pistol and aimed it at Rick. Thinking fast, O'Connell threw the asp back the way it came, and it sunk its teeth into the face of the shooter before he could fire.

Another cultist, who had been standing by Baltus Hafez, retrieved a knife from his belt and chucked it at O'Connell. Perry suddenly recognised his face— thin and drawn, a hooked nose and small mouth— as that of Shafek, the man who had shot Ardeth Bay six years ago.

Obviously it hadn't been fatal, but the injury was severe and it had left Ardeth immobilised for a while and in crippling pain. Perry had stabbed Shafek and held him prisoner for several days afterwards, siphoning from him whatever information she could get about the cult.

Which had led to the revelation that Meela Nais herself was their so-called "high priestess".

Rick caught the oncoming knife by its blade, and Perry realised she had forgotten the kind of combatant he was. In the space of a second he had spun it back, straight into the chest of the man behind Shafek.

Then there came the mechanical clicking of a heavy gun, and before Perry even saw the machine gun-wielding man in the other doorway she had backtracked into the hall.

Hearing him open fire, she prayed that Jonathan and Rick had also made a successful dash to cover.

But it seemed she wasn't quite in the clear. Shafek had followed her out of the room, and began chasing her when she took off down the hallway.

Eyes darting around for something to throw at him, or perhaps trip him with, she made a speedy descent of the stairs and glanced back over her shoulder. He was pulling another knife from his belt.

_Oh no._

Darting to the nearest bookshelf, Perry pulled out the thickest encyclopedia she could find and turned back to face her pursuer, holding it in front of her chest. There was a hollow _thunk_. She looked down, and found the knife lodged deep into the book cover.

Her mouth fell open. Had she held the book an inch higher, the blade would now be resting comfortably in her solar plexus.

Eyes once more meeting Shafek's, she yanked the knife out of the book and gripped it tightly, ready to defend herself. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, however, he took a sharp left and disappeared into the next room.

Confused, Perry waited a second before following him.

Rounding the corner, she stopped still when she saw Lock-Nah a short distance away. It appeared he was just leaving, Shafek on his heels like an evil puppy. In one horrible moment of recognition, Lock-Nah and Perry locked eyes. Without saying a word, the man made one thing very clear: he'd found her, he remembered her, and they weren't done with her.

And then the cultists were gone as quick as they'd appeared, car engines rumbling as they departed.

"Perry!"

Pyrrah looked over to see Alex O'Connell, sat on the floor by himself. Nearby, Ardeth was sat leaning against a wall, clutching his left shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she gushed to both of them, and helped Alex to his feet.

"They took my mum!" he said, panicked.

She turned her head to Ardeth.

"They took Evelyn?"

The Medjai nodded. Perry saw that he was hurt and scuttled over to his side.

"And they took the gold chest, too!" Alex shouted, following her. "That's what they came here for, but they made a mistake!"

"You're hurt," Perry said, examining the bloody tear above Ardeth's chest.

"It's nothing. Are you alright?"

"Yes. Fine."

"The chest was— will you please listen to me?!" Alex yelled at the two of them.

Perry looked back to the boy and opened her mouth, but stopped abruptly when a new thought reared its ugly head in her imagination.

She gasped and shot to her feet.

"Freddie!"

"Freddie's here?" Alex asked, confused, as Perry ran out of the room.

Ardeth looked to the O'Connell boy.

"Who is Freddie?"

* * *

Perry tore through the kitchen and slammed open the scullery door.

"Freddie? Are you here?"

She frantically found a light switch and flicked it on. For one terrifying moment she felt certain they'd taken him, that those monsters had snatched him amidst the chaos.

But no; her little boy was still there, sitting quietly by the substitute stove.

"Freddie!"

He was wide-eyed, scared stiff by all the commotion he had heard in the last five minutes.

"Mum, what's happening?" he asked, and got to his feet to rush into Perry's arms. She knelt down and hugged him tightly.

She felt something bump into her back, and it seemed Alex had joined them in the scullery doorway.

"Come on, we have to go find my dad!" he urged, and pulled impatiently at her dress sleeve.

The kitchen door burst open once again, Ardeth, of course, scanning the room for signs of danger as soon as he stepped through.

Alex grumbled something intolerable, now squashed between the Medjai and Perry's crouching form.

Still peering concernedly into Freddie's face to see if he was okay, she watched as her son's wide, brown eyes stared upwards at the space behind her.

She shut her own eyes for a second, trying to avoid the thought that a monumental moment was occurring here in this cramped scullery. There was a beat of silence.

Freddie's eyes met hers again, full of innocent curiosity. _If only he knew._

She gave his shoulders a squeeze and turned to look up at Ardeth.

The Medjai was staring at the little boy as if it were the first time he had ever seen a child.

Perry stood up.

"Ardeth," she said, calmly. "This is my son, Freddie."

Unnerved by the strange man staring at him, Freddie's hand found hers and she held it. Ardeth looked between she and the boy in silence.

"Come on!" Alex snapped, impatiently, trying to regain Perry's attention. "Let's go! We have to find Dad!"

He wriggled around Ardeth and sprinted off into the kitchen and then the house beyond, yelling about his mother and a golden bracelet and something about 'seeing pyramids'.

"We better follow him," Perry said quietly, trying to bring Ardeth out of the state of shock he appeared to be lingering in. The Medjai blinked at her.

"Your son?" was all he said.

She nodded. There was a lump in her throat. "Yes."

Ardeth looked back at Freddie for an uncomfortably long time.

"Greetings, young man," he then said, rather awkwardly. He cast one last, confused look between mother and son before turning briskly and following Alex back into the house.

A few seconds passed and Pyrrah let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"Mum," Freddie whispered, stopping her before she could drag him after Ardeth. "He has tattoos..."

She looked down at him to find he was gesturing, still wide-eyed, to the areas of his cheeks that Ardeth had adorned with black Arabic letters.

"Like in the story," he said, smiling so that his breath whistled through his missing front teeth.

"Listen to me, Freddie," she whispered, and placed her hands on his shoulders. "That man's name is Ardeth Bay. Some very strange things might be happening tonight, but you should know you can always _always_ trust him. Okay?"

"Okay, Mama."

"If I'm not here, you stay with him. Understand?"

"Is he your friend?" Freddie asked.

Perry took his hand again and led him out of the scullery.

"Yes. He's an old friend."

* * *

"What the hell are you doing here? Scratch that, I don't care— who the hell are those guys and where are they taking my wife?!"

By the time Perry and Freddie caught up to the others, Rick had pinned Ardeth up against a stone ornament and was shouting at him in an outburst of rage and frustration.

"Rick!" Perry snapped at him, but he paid her no mind. Luckily, Ardeth kept his cool.

"I'm not sure," he told O'Connell, calmly. "But wherever _this_ man is, your wife will surely be."

From his robes he produced a creased photograph, but Perry was too busy wondering why Jonathan was wiping piles of foamy soap off of his shoulders to take a close look at it.

"Why are you covered in bubbles?" she whispered.

Before Jonathan could explain, Alex snatched the photograph from Ardeth's hand and made a worrying proclamation.

"Hey! I know him! He's the curator, he works at the British Museum."

Perry's ears pricked up at this, and she took the photograph from the boy to see for herself.

"Are you sure?" Ardeth asked.

"You better believe him, he spends more time there than he does at home..." Rick said, and began stalking off to the front side of the estate.

Perry squinted at the photo and frowned.

"This is Baltus Hafez."

"Who?" Jonathan inquired. "Wait, Perry, how do you know all these people? What's going on?"

Caught between his confused glare and a questioning glance from Ardeth, she opted to avoid answering anybody at all and instead followed Rick across the lawn, Freddie in tow.

"Okay, _you're_ here," O'Connell was now saying to the Medjai, "bad guys are here, Evy's been kidnapped. Lemme guess—"

"Yes. They once again removed the creature from his grave." Ardeth said, solemnly.

_Fantastic,_ Perry thought, her chest tightening with fear. She sighed and held Freddie's hand tighter, probably hurting his little knuckles.

"I don't mean to point fingers, but isn't it your job to make sure that _doesn't_ happen?!" Jonathan spat at Ardeth, and Perry noticed that he was holding the golden sceptre he had accidentally taken from Hamunaptra's ruins.

He now used this artifact as both an ice-breaking conversation piece and solid proof of their adventure involving the City of the Dead. Never did he hesitate to show it off to Londoners and lady friends alike.

"Easier said than done," Perry said. "Besides, I'm sure Ardeth is very busy these days."

The Medjai turned his head in surprise. She was surprised, herself; she hadn't intended to deliver her words in such a snarky demeanor, but apparently her mouth had other plans.

"Well, it would appear you have been quite busy yourself," he responded in a manner just as callous, subtly gesturing to Freddie with a wave of his hand. The two Egyptians were suddenly glaring at one another over the top of Jonathan Carnahan's head.

"Well, I don't know what the devil you two were up to back in the motherland five years ago, but I think we'd all appreciate it if you filled us in on some of the details. You know, the ones regarding cults that kidnap my sister and resurrect evil dead priests!" Jonathan snapped, stuck between them and about ready to reach his boiling point.

"The woman who was with them," Ardeth said as they walked on, "she knows things. Things that no living person could know. She knew exactly where the creature was buried."

"How would she know that?" Rick asked, still aggravated.

"Well, she has the Book of the Dead. The power at her fingertips is unimaginable..." Perry said, and she could feel Jonathan's look of embitterment boring into the side of her face.

_I really didn't tell him anything, did I?_

"We were hoping she would lead us to the bracelet. She obviously did. And now they have it." Ardeth said.

"Well, I wouldn't get too nervous just yet..." said Alex, and they all stopped walking to look at him. He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and Perry gasped.

Ardeth took his arm in his hands.

A gigantic piece of gold was covering the majority of the boy's forearm, wrapped around him like a disjointed piece of ancient armour.

"Is that gold?" Jonathan asked.

"When I stuck it on I saw the Pyramid at Giza, and then _whoosh!_ Straight across the desert to Karnak!" Alex told them all excitedly.

"You had a... vision of these things?" Perry clarified, and he nodded.

It was just as she suspected. This was Bracelet of Anubis, once worn by the Scorpion King Mathayus himself. She and Ardeth had spent months trying to stop the cult from finding this, their efforts culminating in the destruction of the Scrolls of Thebes at her own hands.

The sacred scrolls had contained a map to this bracelet and instructions on its use; but it seemed the bracelet had been unearthed without the scrolls, and it was now in the hands of one Alexander O'Connell.

So right now, Perry wasn't feeling like her insanely dangerous, life-ruining, relationship-destroying efforts had been even remotely worthwhile.

Freddie, peering round her side, was ogling the strange object on his friend's arm. He whispered something about it being shiny.

Ardeth stared at Alex with the utmost sincerity.

"By putting this on, you have started a chain reaction that could bring about the next apocalypse!" he said, and the poor boy's face turned a shade paler.

Perry almost rolled her eyes. _Oh, how I've missed Mr. Brightside._

"You. Lighten up." Rick told the Medjai, pointing a finger at him and then turning to his son. "You. You're in trouble."

Then he pointed at Perry, and following her, Jonathan. "You, go home. You, get in the car."

Everybody scuttled off, except Perry, who watched them clamber into Rick's automobile with a sudden, enormous surge of annoyance.

"Go home?" she repeated. "What do you mean, 'go home'?! I can't just go home and twiddle my thumbs!"

Rick stood by the driver's side door. Lightening flashed, illuminating the night for a split second.

"Uh, yeah, you can. Unless you want to introduce your five year old to your buddies from that cult."

"_You're_ bringing an eight year old!" she cried, pointing at Alex in the backseat.

"Doesn't feel so nice to be left out, does it sweetheart?" Jonathan said smugly, and slid in next to his nephew. She glowered at him.

"You need me! I know more about the Cult of Imhotep than any of you!" she shouted, desperately.

"Pyrrah, get your son to safety," Ardeth said before he got in the passenger's side. He looked at Freddie, that trace of disbelief still lingering in his dark eyes. "We will find you later."

And then he closed his door and the automobile sped off, leaving Perry and her son alone in the pouring rain.


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n: Hi guys! Thanks for coming back to read and review after all this time! Inspiration just struck me lately and the chapters are flowing! You guys are the best. :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 5****  
**  
"Mum, what's happening?"

"Go and sit on your bed, Freddie, please."

Perry double bolted the front door of their flat and pulled off her coat.

Freddie groaned as he tried to hoist himself up onto his bed, foot slipping on the edge of the mattress multiple times before he finally achieved the feat.

He seated himself comfortably and watched as his mother dashed first into the kitchen, and then over to her own bed in the same room.

"Mum, what are you doing?"

Perry knelt on the floor and heaved a giant, chestnut-grain leather travelling trunk from beneath her bed frame. Freddie had never seen it before in his life. She coughed quite a bit after attempting to blow away the lovely skin of dust that had gathered on its top, and then quickly flipped open its latches with her thumbs.

"Looking for something, sweetheart," she muttered, and ran a hand through her damp hair to un-plaster the wet strands from her forehead.

Freddie pulled off his wet shoes and socks, watching her with curiosity all the while.

"_Go home_... Those men, I tell you... Seems they've forgotten all the times I've saved their lives..." Perry began to angrily mumble to herself, rummaging through the items in the suitcase.

"You've saved their lives?" Freddie asked, surprised.

"Yes. Well... Maybe not Rick's. But definitely Ardeth's, and definitely Mr. Carnahan's."

Perry began pulling things out of the trunk at random. Long scarves of varying colours and fabrics, a silver pocket watch, an orange lipstick box that said _'Tangee'_ on the front, and a set of house keys were all soon scattered on the floor around her. Papers— so many papers— rustled as she rifled through them, most of them written in a foreign alphabet that Freddie assumed was the language they used in Egypt, the one that his mother spoke at times.

"When did that happen, Mum?"  
His question now seemed to draw Perry out of her deep thoughts, and she looked over at him.

"What?"

"When did you save Uncle Jonathan's life?"

She blinked at him.  
"Oh... Before you were born. A few times, actually."

Freddie slid down off his bed and walked over to her, the wooden floor cold beneath his bare feet.

Trying to get a good nosy at the suitcase, he peered over her shoulder and saw that it was filled with a good amount of books— 'The Ancient Egyptians: Their Life and Customs, Volume 2' glared up at him— and lots of clothes he had never seen her wear.

He knelt down beside her, eyeing a ball jar that was sealed with wax at the lid.

"And what's the creature?" he asked.

She turned to him and brushed his own damp hair away from his forehead.

"Let's get you into some dry clothes." she said.

"But what is it?" Freddie persisted. "I heard you all talking about it. And what are these?"

He lifted the jar out of the trunk and rattled it, watching two shiny objects inside tinkle around against the glass.

"Oh, don't touch that!" she gasped, and carefully took the jar from him. "These are scarab beetles, sweetheart. They're dead, but you can't be too careful."

Disappointed, Freddie looked back inside the trunk.  
"Are these your clothes? Why don't you wear them?" he asked, and began rifling through the fabrics lining the bottom of the case. He found something solid tangled in black fabric and pulled it out, and before Perry could stop him he was holding a heavy, leather-bound book. It was tied carefully with an old piece of string, and the edges of its yellow pages were curling severely.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, and he jumped. "This was exactly what I was looking for! Good boy, Freddie."

He didn't understand why she wanted it, as the rest of her possessions seemed entirely more interesting, but he handed her the book regardless.

"Why do you need that?"

Perry placed the book on top of her bed and got to her feet.

"I'll tell you if you put on some dry trousers and your grey jumper," she bargained.

He ran over to his chest of drawers. "No pyjamas?"

"No, we might have to go out again," she said, and this excited Freddie. It was far past his bedtime, and this whole evening was turning into quite the adventure— one he understood very little about, but an adventure nonetheless.

Perry washed the watery remains of her makeup away in the kitchen sink, the rain having done most of the work for her, and fixed her hair while Freddie waited for her explanations.

"Okay, come sit."

He sat at the kitchen table with her, and she brought over the heavy book he had found and set it down.

"Alright. This might be hard for you to understand. You know the story I tell you? About the librarian, and the archeologist, and the adventurer named O'Brian?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"Well, it's true."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

Freddie couldn't quite comprehend what his mother was saying.

"The librarian is Evelyn, and her brother, the archeologist, is Mr. Carnahan. O'Brian is the name I made up for Rick O'Connell. And I was Mr. Carnahan's assistant. All of it is true," she told him.

Freddie frowned.  
"What about O'Brian being in that scary prison? And the fire on the boat? And the key to—"

"— Hamunaptra, yes, all of it. Hamunaptra was real, but it's not there anymore." _We didn't get to the part of the story where I sunk it,_ she thought.

"And the men with tattoos?" Freddie asked.

"Yes, they're real. You met one of them today."

The boy's eyes went wide again, as they had when he'd seen Ardeth for the first time.

"And... What about the mummy?"

Perry drew a breath. She didn't expect him to understand half of this, but he'd likely be finding out one way or another.

"That's a very long story. But... Yes, there was a creature in Hamunaptra. A mummified man that came back to life, the work of an ancient, dark magic. And we had to stop him from doing very bad things," she said, finding it unbelievable that these words were leaving her mouth. "We succeeded. But now he might be coming back."

In her pause, Perry noticed the rain wasn't pelting the windows anymore. The night was clearing up.

She watched her son process what she'd said.

"What's going to happen?" he asked, timidly.

"Nothing bad will happen to us, my dear, I promise," she said, and reached across the table to hold his hand. "But we might have to help Mr and Mrs. O'Connell... sort things out."

* * *

Freddie's questions from that point on had been delivered with the speed and energy of the steam train that passed by their block of flats. Perry answered him as honestly as possible, still questioning her own decision to be so open about such bizarre realities with a young child. She expected he'd be riled for hours on end, but then something entirely unexpected happened, and he fell asleep.

Perhaps his rapid thoughts had burnt up all his energy.

He dozed off all of a sudden on her bed, and she sat on the floor beside it pouring over the pages of Terence Bey's journal.

She had left her entire life behind in Egypt, bringing to this new country only an unborn child and the items in this one suitcase. The fates had apparently been on her side when she threw this leather-bound notebook in with the rest of her belongings, because if Alex O'Connell had the Bracelet of Anubis latched on his forearm, they were definitely going to need it today.

She found the image of the Bracelet of Anubis that Terence Bey had carefully pencilled years ago, and began combing through the information once again.

Engrossing herself in the journal was the only way to quell her frustrations about being left behind this evening; it stopped her from feeling entirely useless, and it happened to pass the time until somebody rapped furiously on her front door.

Freddie woke up with a jolt. Perry leapt to her feet and dashed to unbolt the door, opening it just enough to peer into the corridor with the chain lock still drawn.

"Sorry to disturb, Perry, but can you open the bloody door?"

Jonathan and Ardeth were crammed in the narrow hallway, and even through the darkness she could see that they were each in quite a dishevelled state. She shut the door again to unlock the chain, and then ushered them inside.

"Don't suppose you have any whiskey here, do you, darling?" Jonathan asked tiredly, striding into the flat amidst what looked to be an adrenaline rush on the decline.

She shut the door and locked it again, frowning at the men.

"What's going on? Did you find Evy? Is she okay?"

Ardeth stopped in the middle of the flat and looked around. Perry watched him analyse the home. He eyed the cracks in the ceiling, the damp spots around the windows, the patches of curling wallpaper.

Her bed, and then Freddie's bed, where the boy sat staring at him.

"We need to talk to you. Perhaps without the child listening?" Ardeth said quietly, and looked directly at her for the first time since he and Jonathan had arrived. Over his shoulder, she glanced at Freddie.

They both had the exact same look of concern on their faces, and the resemblance between the two was so striking that Perry's breath hitched in her throat for a second.

"The kitchen," was all she managed to say, and her voice came out a little strangled. She lead Jonathan and the Medjai into the cold, boxy extension of their flat that barely passed as a kitchen.

"Evy's good, she's with Rick and she's safe," Jonathan said, when they were out of Freddie's earshot.

"Oh, thank goodness," Perry breathed, and put her hands on her hips. "You had me worried."

He and Ardeth exchanged a look.

"...But they took Alex." Jonathan said.

Her face dropped.  
"What?"

Jonathan proceeded to explain all that had happened that evening. The cult had taken Evy to serve as a sacrifice of some kind for a ritual they performed in the British Museum. Rick and Ardeth had stormed the building and gotten her out of there, but a chase across London had apparently ensued. Four terrifying undead warriors had tailed— and then boarded— the double decker bus that Jonathan had (for a reason he failed to explain) hijacked. After fighting them off, the group had foolishly assumed they were out of harm's way. They were wrong, and Alex O'Connell had been snatched by the Cult of Imhotep before their very eyes.

Perry felt lightheaded. Suddenly she was glad that she and Freddie had just gone home.

"Hold on," she said, and shook her head. "There were... _Mummies?_ Brought to life at the British Museum?"

"Yes. Unfortunately those soldiers were not the only dark beings raised from death this evening." Ardeth said, grimly, and the tone of his voice scattered goosebumps across her arms.

"No," she whispered. "They didn't. They can't have."

He paused, and then nodded. "It is true. They gave life to Imhotep once more," he told her.

There was a long silence. The rain had started up again, and was hammering the window above the sink.  
Perry turned around all of a sudden, reached into the high cabinet above the stove and produced a bottle of Glenlivet from within.

"Thank God," Jonathan moaned, practically ripping it from her hands and unscrewing the cap.

"Happy birthday," she muttered, and ran a hand through her hair. "I can't believe this. What are we going to do?"

Ardeth was the only one available to answer her, as Jonathan was already drinking straight from his green glass bottle.

"Wearing the bracelet, the boy's safety is basically guaranteed," he informed her, of Alex. "They need him alive to direct them to the Oasis of Ahm Shere."

Jonathan swallowed his mouthful all too loudly and then scrunched up his face at the strength of the drink.  
"Ah, yes, that shit you two know more about than me," he grumbled, and leaned back against the kitchen cupboards. "Christ. They've got my nephew and I can't do anything about it. I feel sodding worthless."

He took another swig from the bottle and grimaced.  
"O'Connell better hurry up with those Imperial seats."

"Imperial?" Perry repeated.

He nodded, drink at his lips again, and waved his hand around while he gulped as if that would get his point across adequately.

"Ah, mmh hmm, yes," he finally said, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was the other thing. We came here to tell you to pack a bag. We'll be setting off for Cairo by morning."


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n:**

So, here's the thing. I don't *think* it's mentioned in TMR how either the O'Connells or the Cult of Imhotep actually get between Britain and Egypt in (what I'm assuming) is a fairly short amount of time. For this chapter I had to ponder that a lil bit and figure out how to get our heroes from one continent to another, because they can't teleport 2,200 miles and I rather fancied tackling it.

I concluded that monetary issues wouldn't really be a problem for either party, but travel by sea would take way too long. Therefore, after a bit of research into air travel in the early 1930s, I stumbled across something called the 'Flying Boat' of Imperial Airways. I found it incredibly interesting to read about, and while I can't post a link to the article, I recommend you take a gander over to Google and check it out. (The article I read was on a site called "Paleofuture".) Cool stuff.

Thanks again to everyone who's reading and reviewing! I wish you all very happy holidays and a wonderful New Year. Sending virtual love and hugs your way!

Oh, and, _**Brunette**_— hi! So excited to read _'The Ones We Leave Behind'_ (everybody go check it out, she's absolutely fantastic), Imma reply to your review and review TOWLB asap. :)

Okay! On with the chapter… (Just a short one, but the next will be along soon!)

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

The Empire Flying Boat— one of twenty-eight owned and operated by Imperial Airways— was eighty feet long, a hundred and fourteen feet wide, and weighed nearly twenty tonnes when fully loaded.

It had two decks, four engines, and carried forty passengers around the world on fortnight-long trips from Britain to Australia and anywhere in between. It would have the O'Connells' troupe on Egyptian soil in just two and a half days.

To the wealthy British globetrotter or man of business setting off on a first class adventure, it was a modern marvel that combined speed and efficiency with the most luxurious travelling experience money could buy.

A _lot_ of money could buy, that is. The O'Connells didn't need the luxury, though; they would have quite happily crammed themselves on a string of rattly freight planes to get to their son, but Imperial Airlines offered a travelling speed so fast that every other option was rendered incomparable.

The plane floated like a fat, metal duck on the waters of the London docks where it was currently boarding passengers. It was just after four o'clock in the morning, and Jonathan shivered noticeably on the rowboat idling by the aircraft's entryway.

"It's cold as a witch's tit out here, can you hurry it along?!" he yelled at a stewardess who was helping the elderly lady in front of him on board. Both women cast him a dirty look, and Perry joined them.

"Will you keep your voice down? And watch your language in front of Freddie," she warned.

Jonathan huffed. He was acting like a petulant child.

"If there is a possibility the world might end, Perry, I'm doing what I want until it happens."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he said, and took his turn climbing on board. He staggered a little, the generous dose of Glenlivet he'd earlier consumed not yet having worn off. "And this plane ride— or boat ride— or whatever it is— better be worth the bloody money..."

He began complaining, ranting to the unsettled stewardess about getting to Egypt before those 'child-thieving, dead-raising bastards'.

"Mum, how long will we be in here?" Freddie asked, as Perry climbed aboard the plane and turned back to grab their suitcase.

"Two days, Freddie— oh, dear—"

Trying to heave the case up from the rocking boat below, her first attempt failed and she awkwardly had to lower it down and start again.

Ardeth, in line to board after she and Freddie, had been staring off at the city in the distance, observing London's twinkling lights through the fine rain.

Hearing Perry's struggle, he quickly moved over to help her.

"Here, allow me—"

"No, no, it's okay, really," she assured him, cutting him off and lifting the case herself. He fell quiet and stood back again, and she felt bad for shunning his help.

"Can you help Freddie, though?" she asked instead, and the request seemed to catch him off guard for a second. Freddie looked at him, expecting the man to perhaps give him a little boost on board. He was entirely surprised when Ardeth reached down and picked him up, sweeping him right up high into his arms.

Freddie laughed loudly at the motion, which made Ardeth chuckle in turn.

The boy was never picked up, Perry realised; he was far too big for her to do so anymore, and Jonathan never had the energy for that sort of thing.

"Is this too high for you?" Ardeth asked Freddie, grinning. Freddie just laughed again and shook his head.

The Medjai's expression changed when he looked at Perry, and she realised she was just stood staring at the pair of them, unmoving and holding up the queue.

"Do you want me to take the case?" Ardeth asked, and offered a free hand.

She cleared her throat and gave her head a shake.

"No, that's alright, thank you. Let's find our seats."

They made their way through the aircraft, looking for the O'Connells' booth. Wealthy Brits that were already seated shot nervous glances towards them, particularly in Ardeth's direction, and whispered amongst themselves. Neither Ardeth or Freddie seemed to notice, however, as they were each too busy taking in their strange new surroundings.

"This is unlike any other aircraft I have been on..." Ardeth remarked, and Perry snickered.

"Yes, we've come far since you were strapped to the wing of Winston Havelock's beloved jet."

She was surprised she'd remembered that crazy old pilot's name.

"Hopefully this flight doesn't end in a similar way," he muttered.

"Perry! Over here!" Jonathan called from a corner booth, beckoning them over. His mood had changed dramatically since he boarded.

Evy and Rick were sat beside him, discussing something quietly amongst themselves.

"They serve alcohol on here!" Jonathan informed them, whispering loudly like it was a secret that he was doing a terrible job of keeping. Ardeth put Freddie down, and the boy slid to over the side of the tipsy Englishman and took a seat.

"Jonathan, might I ask where I can store my case?" Perry asked, eager to retrieve Terence's journal once again and get back to work.

She was determined to be two steps ahead of the Cult of Imhotep, and that was the attitude they'd need if they were going to get Alex back. A two day flight might have appeared a test of one's patience to anybody else, but to Pyrrah it was an excellent opportunity to do something very important: garner knowledge.

"Ah, yes, our cabins are down that hallway, third and fourth rooms on the left. You and Fred are in the third, with me and him." He pointed to the aforementioned hallway and then jabbed a thumb at Ardeth, who suddenly took Perry's suitcase from her and strode off in that direction.

Perry signalled to Jonathan to watch Freddie while she followed him, and then dashed off after the Medjai.

"Where do you want this?" he asked her when she reached the cabin; there was a set of bunk beds against each wall, and she pointed to one of the bottom ones. He put the case on the quilt top and she sat on the bed to open it.

"I don't suppose now's the time for complaining, but I imagine sharing a room with Mr. Carnahan this evening is going to be..."

"Interesting," Ardeth said.

"Exactly."

Papers rustled. She pulled out Terence Bey's journal and set it on her lap.

"They seem very close. Jonathan and your son."

Perry looked up at him.

"Well, yes. Jonathan's always looked after him if I can't be there. He'd rather die than raise children of his own, but he is good with Freddie."

Ardeth nodded, slowly.

"He's a good boy."

"Thank you," she said, and smiled warmly. "He seems to like you."

The Medjai smiled as well.

"He reminds me very much of my son."

Perry blinked. Her mind felt gridlocked for a second, as she tried to comprehend what he'd just said.

"Your son?"

"Yes, they are about the same age," he told her.

She was lost for words. "Ah... Right, so, you— you have a child?"

"Three, actually," he said, and sat down on the other side of her suitcase. "A son and two daughters."

Perry felt her throat tighten.

_Pull yourself together, Pyrrah. Of course he has kids, why wouldn't he have kids? He's married, he has three wives, you know that, why wouldn't you consider that?_

"That's lovely to hear, Ardeth," she said, quietly, and went about leafing through the journal in order to avoid eye contact with him.

There was a long pause, and unfortunately it only intensified the already unbearable tension that had just skyrocketed in the cabin.

"A lot has happened. I have a lot of questions for you," he said.

"Well, we're going to be on this aircraft for two days," she laughed, her voice now an unusual, high pitch that probably shocked her more than him. She stood up and shut the suitcase a little too forcefully. "We'll catch up at some point!"

She smiled, nodded over-enthusiastically and made an escape to the hallway, leaving him sitting alone in the cabin.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

_I'm not taking this well._

Pyrrah's plan had been to immerse herself in Terence Bey's writings and absorb as much knowledge of the Bracelet of Anubis, the Scorpion King and Ahm Shere as was possible.

But she just could not concentrate.

Her head was full of Ardeth. Her throat was often choked up, her chest tight, her lips pressed together in frustration because she could not stop thinking about him.  
And it felt rotten.

The fact that he spent two entire days on the Imperial aircraft playing with her five year old son didn't help the fact, either. It made it one hundred percent worse.

Ardeth told Freddie stories, he made him laugh constantly, he answered about three hundred of his questions. And Perry was just as torn up over him as she had been five years ago.

She read sentences of Terence's neat Arabic handwriting, and then reread them, and then read them again. But nothing was sinking in.

A billion questions, it seemed, were buzzing around in her mind like pestering hornets. But she didn't ask him anything, and she didn't allow him an opportunity to ask her anything either.

She didn't intend to 'catch up' with him. That can of worms was better left unopened, she felt.

A much needed distraction arrived when she experienced something strange and entirely unpleasant as the plane's altitude began to negatively effect everyone, herself and Freddie included.

The aeroplane's staff were flitting from cabin to cabin, offering bed-bound passengers oxygen through assistive breathing apparatus.

"At least this plane is warm," Jonathan said to Perry, lying on his top bunk and trying to cope with the additional hangover he had gifted himself. "I flew from Al Fashir to Malawi about fifteen years ago, and I tell you, it felt like I was in the Himalayas. Froze my nads off..."

Perry sighed and adjusted the blanket that Freddie was wrapped in at her side. The poor boy had been sick all morning, his little body finding it even harder to cope than the adult passengers.

He was sleeping now, a frown set on his sickly pale face. She too was feeling more than a little queasy and was lying with him on the bed, trying to bear the sickness and perhaps get some rest.

"It is not normal for humans to up be this high," she complained, and tried to take deeper breaths.

"It feels like death." Ardeth said, also lying on his bed, the bunk below Jonathan's. He was having a lot of trouble dealing with the altitude as well, compounded when he refused to take oxygen from the flight attendants. He was very untrusting of the breathing apparatus, and had not approved of Perry allowing Freddie to receive some.

"Oh, you two are quite the pair of desert people, aren't you? Used to all that low, flat land. You'll adjust to it, over time. Toughen up a bit!" Jonathan told them both, all too cockily, and was ignored.

_At least these cabins are roomy,_ Perry thought. _If anybody vomits we might just go unscathed...  
_  
"Oh dear," Jonathan said, quietly and suddenly, and sat bolt upright on his bed. "Oh dear. No no no no no. No no—"

He scrambled to the ladder at the side of his bunk and slid to the floor with all the grace of a wet cat, making a dash for the door and running off with a hand clamped over his mouth.

"When he returns I'll tell him to 'toughen up a bit'," Perry said, smugly.

Ardeth was covering his eyes with the back of his hand.  
"Is this the way you travelled to England?"

She sighed and gently stroked Freddie's hair.  
"Oh, no. I went by boat. A big ocean liner. 45 days at sea."

"And you have remained in London since that time?" he asked.

"Yes."

Apparently he had found his opportunity to ask his questions. Perry suddenly wished that one of them would get so sick that a Jonathan-esque mad dash to the lavatory was necessary.

"Do you own your home?" he asked.

"I pay rent."

"So you work?"

"Yes," she answered, and rolled her eyes, knowing he couldn't see her do so. "I work in a factory. Fairweather Fudge."

The Medjai removed his hand from his eyes and turned his head to look at her.

"Fudge?"

She realised he had no idea what fudge was.

"Yes, fudge. It's like... It's a sweet food, that's made of sugar and butter," she tried to explain. "My job is to wrap the fudge cubes, and then they box them and send them off to the shops."

Ardeth didnt look any less confused.

"Perhaps I'll send some to you in the post," she said. "Assuming we, umm... Halt the possible apocalypse and all."

He nodded his head.  
"...Shokran."

There was an awkward pause. Perry decided to try and ease the tension a little.

"I know you're asking those questions to figure out if I've married. Well, I'm not and I have never been. So there," she said, pointedly. "I pay my own rent. I work for my money, as I always have. Jonathan pays for Freddie's schooling, but that's the only help I receive."

"His school is costly?" Ardeth asked, and Perry imagined he must have found the concept baffling.

In Medjai tribes there was no schooling system; his children would be educated by their mothers and aunts and grandmothers, language taught through spoken word. Trading, cooking and navigational skills were deemed the most important things to learn. The idea of not only sending your child away to be taught by strangers, but paying those strangers to lecture them and teach them of monetary numbers and western literature seemed more than strange.

"Yes. Jonathan insists on paying for it. And I think it's important he gets a good education."

"And how is he treated by the English children?" he asked.

Perry suspected he already knew the answer. Freddie had been blabbering to him non-stop for their entire trip thus far.  
"About as well as I'm treated by the English adults," she said, quietly and coldly. "In case you didn't notice, I had nobody to leave Freddie with in London."

"Why do you not return to Egypt, then?" he asked. Now he was wandering into the dangerous question territory. Perry was feeling tense again, and she didn't doubt he was, too.

"Lots of reasons."

"How long ago did you leave?"

"About a month after I last saw you," she answered. "When did you marry your brides?"

Ardeth looked like a wave of nausea hit him when she fired her question back at him. He sighed, and sat up on his bunk to rest his head against the wall.

"Around the same time."

She chewed on her lip and nodded.

"How old are your children?" she asked.

He paused.  
"They are all five years of age."

_Well, didn't you have a busy year?_ she thought.

"What are their names?"

He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Zahir is my son, the oldest. Nefret is my oldest daughter. And my youngest daughter is named Aaradhya."

After a little while, she said, "Those are lovely names."

"Thank you. Might I ask why you named him Freddie?" Ardeth asked, and nodded towards her sleeping boy.

She laughed and shook her head.

"Oh, I didn't name him Freddie, Jonathan started calling him that," she chuckled. "His name is Faruq."

Ardeth's face dropped. Perry knew why.

It was a slip of the tongue that sent her heart plummeting regretfully to her stomach, but before anything could be said of it the cabin door swung open and Jonathan staggered inside, obnoxiously making enough noise to wake Freddie up.

"Oh, what a trip!" the Englishman moaned, and traipsed over to his bunk ladder. "Thank God we land in half an hour!"

Freddie sat up and yawned, wobbling a little on the edge of his bed. Despite his sickness and exhaustion, he hopped down to the floor, regained his balance and then hurried to the window. He pulled back the curtain that had been doing only a half-decent job of blocking out the noon light, and pressed his palms excitedly against the glass.

The sky outside was a brighter blue than he had ever seen it before in his life. Wisps of white clouds flitted by the aircraft, the sun blazing through them so brilliantly that he had to blink.

These were the heavens, he supposed, and below them was the land of Egypt.

* * *

The anxiety Pyrrah was feeling reached its peak as the flying boat made its final descent, rattling and shuddering and throwing the passengers around quite violently. And then, once they hit the waters of the Giza ports, an unexpected calmness surpassed her nervousness.

_I'm home._

The miniature windows lining the walls of the cabins and lounges allowed a glimpse at a flawless blue sky that only Africa could provide; one free of the smog that London's thick, polluted air pumped into its atmosphere each day.

"We're here!" Freddie cheered excitedly, as she repacked their suitcase.

"That's right, my dear," she said, smiling at his innocent enthusiasm. After a moment's consideration, she pulled a silken black scarf out of her belongings. For the first time in five years, she wrapped it around her head to form a hijab. Freddie watched her, inquisitive, but didn't ask what she was doing.

The British passengers stepping out of the aircraft would likely have found the rush of stifling heat that greeted them an unpleasant assault on one's senses; Pyrrah relished it. The hot, dry air was carried on the back of a warm breeze out here on the docks. Stepping onto Egyptian land once more, she shut her eyes for a second and allowed herself to grin.

The brilliant sunshine, the dusty air that tickled her skin straight away... It was like the country itself was embracing her warmly, saying 'welcome back'. She sighed.

And though London's pea soup sky was not to be found, there was a smoky smell to the capital city that she found simply heavenly. The intermingling scents of two worlds, ancient and modernised, of burning rice and automobile exhausts, shisha and cigarettes, sea salt and spices.

A wave of nostalgia hit her, and she squeezed Freddie's hand. She had missed this place, for all of its flaws.

Jonathan caught the look on her face.  
"Glad to be back home, my dear?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips and squinting uncomfortably at the brightness of his surroundings.

"Yes. I didn't think I'd ever come back here," she said. "I only wish it was under different circumstances."

"Speaking of which, what's our plan?" the Englishman quite loudly inquired of everybody in the immediate area. Rick and Evelyn regrouped with them, and following that Ardeth joined their little circle in the middle of the crowded docks.

The O'Connells had been keeping to themselves for the duration of their flight. Partly in unified anxiety and distress, partly, Perry guessed, in the makings of a plot to get their son back. She wanted to hear what plan they'd devised.

"We need to get to Karnak, fast. I'm willing to bet they've already covered good ground," Rick said, quietly. "If we can get there before them, all the better. I have one suggestion for transportation but my guy lives on the west bank, out past Doqqi, so—"

"I have a closer contact."

All eyes turned to Jonathan, who folded his arms triumphantly and rocked on his heels. Evy just about rolled her eyes.

Rick raised his eyebrows.  
"That so?"

"Yes, in Fort Brydon. Last time I checked, anyway. She can get us access to anything, state of the art plane, train or automobile," he boasted, as if it was a sales pitch he'd just been dying to spew out to his brother-in-law.

Rick looked to Evy, who sighed and shrugged.

"Well, if you think it'll save us time, Jonathan—"

"It will! Guaranteed. If she still lives there, of course."

Jonathan clapped his hands and set off to flag down a cab, an unsure Rick and Evelyn in tow.

"Do you have any idea where he is going?" Ardeth asked Perry, both of them looking on as Evelyn scolded Rick in an annoyed little rant of whispers.

"Unfortunately, I do," she sighed, "though I really hope I'm wrong."

"Mum, is this where you're from?" Freddie asked, and both of them looked at him.

"Yes, my sweet," she told him, and extended an arm to gesture proudly to the bursting city that lay in their path. "This is Egypt! Your entire family are from here. This is your country, too."

He gazed out at his strange new surroundings, looking a little overwhelmed.

"What do you intend to do with him?"

She didn't know what caught her off guard more: Ardeth's question, or the fact that he asked her in Arabic. It was the first time in so long that anybody had spoken to her in her own language. She blinked.

"What do you mean?" she replied, also in Arabic.

Ardeth glanced at the boy.  
"Pyrrah, consider this. We follow this group of maniacal cult members to Karnak. We catch up with them and retrieve the boy and the bracelet. Or not. We follow them further, into the unknown, and end up at the oasis itself. Either way, it is incredibly treacherous. More deadly than we are prepared for. And they have the Creature."

She stared at him.

"You are going to bring your son with you and place him in extreme danger—"

"Well, what am I supposed to do, Ardeth?!" she snapped loudly, still in Arabic, and the O'Connells looked back at her from where they were standing.

"You cannot bring him with you."

"Where can I leave him, then? Who can I trust him with?" she asked, annoyed.

It hadn't been an easy decision for her to bring Freddie along. They were heading straight into a storm, and everybody's lives were at risk. She had been through something along these lines once before, and she knew that these circumstances were not ones to drag a child into. People died last time, and the time before that, and they would likely die again.

"We could leave him with the tribe."

Perry blinked. Agitated, she glanced over at Jonathan, who was still eyeing them suspiciously.  
"What do you mean?" she asked the Medjai, calming herself.

"An opportunity will arise today for you to put him in safe hands. He can stay with my family, our people," Ardeth explained. "He will be safe there."

Freddie was quietly watching the two adults whisper frantically in this foreign, rolling tongue.

"Consider it, Pyrrah," Ardeth said, a final note in English.

He brushed past her, affectionately placing a hand atop Freddie's head and ruffling his hair as he left them.

Perry cursed under her breath.

They had not been on Egyptian soil for fifteen minutes, yet she had already made three discoveries since their landing.

One: she had missed Egypt more than she realised, and it was going to be much, much harder to leave this place the second time around.

Two: bringing Freddie along for the ride was easier said than done.

Three: she and Ardeth Bay were going to drive each other absolutely crazy.


	8. Chapter 8

**a/n: **Whaaaaat? TWO chapters? Without a seven year gap between them? What sorcery is this?

Thanks soooo much for all the reviews/ follows/ faves, guys! You're the best :) I'm currently working two jobs, volunteering at two places and doing coursework, so sorry if there's a wee wait between chapters and replies; remember, I'm not abandoning anything!

This one's maybe a bit dialogue heavy, but I enjoyed writing it... And I guess the translation below is a spoiler in itself. Whoops ;)

(Let me know what you think, and always feel free to tell me your suggestions/ opinions on how this story should go!)

\- A xxx

* * *

_Translations:_

Szép munka - Hungarian, 'Nice work", or "Well done'.

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

"Jonathan, are you joking?" Evelyn asked, shoulders dropping at the sight of the familiar Fort Brydon high-rise in their midst.

One Ms. Marina Quatermain had occupied the penthouse flat of this building some eight years ago, and Jonathan Carnahan had just wasted thirty minutes of their time on an unlikely bet that she still resided there. And that she would be willing to help them. Neither was guaranteed.

Far too excitedly, he bolted through the revolving glass doors and up the stairs in the lobby, heading for the top of the building with no shortage of energy.

"I don't get it, who lives here?" Rick asked Perry, the two of them following the siblings up the stairs with a little less vigor.

"Marina Quatermain," Perry answered, dryly, rather annoyed herself. Her presumptions about Jonathan's prospects had been correct. Freddie shot past her, assuming it was some sort of race to the top. "She used to, at least."

"Can she help us?"

"Well, she helped us last time. Right around the time it started raining gigantic, fiery hailstones."

"Alright, good," Rick said, sounding pleased with Jonathan's choice.

"Oh, no, sorry. She helped us before that. During the hailstones, she and Jonathan were engaged in other activities. Ones entirely unrelated to stopping forces of evil."

Rick looked at her, suddenly realising what she was implying.  
"Are you kidding me?"

Perry shook her head.  
"Unfortunately, Mr. O'Connell, I am not."

By the time she, Rick and Ardeth reached the top floor, Jonathan was trying in vain to normalize his breathing and regain a cool demeanor, psyching himself up for knocking on the front door.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Jonathan!" Evy hissed. "You don't even know who lives here! I can't believe you've dragged us all the way across Cairo to—"

"Oh, shush!" he moaned at her, and turned to rap on the door.

They waited in silence, everybody except Jonathan fully convinced that a complete stranger would answer and they'd now have to trek all the way out to the west bank to meet Rick's contact.

Jonathan was holding the breath he'd just caught, envisioning the glimmering blonde mirage of his first love opening the doorway and—

"How can I help you?"

Sometimes in life, there are moments that are so utterly unbelievable that everybody involved just freezes for a minute, individually taking a second to acknowledge the bizarre web that fate somehow weaves. After this moment has passed, all hell tends to break loose.

This was one of those moments.

Standing in the doorway of the penthouse suite of the swankiest high-rise in Fort Brydon was a skinny little man with big, blue eyes, a pencil moustache and a peculiar European accent.

"...Beni?"

Rick was the first to say his name.

Beni Gabor suddenly recognised each of the faces of the five adults in the hallway, and his eyes just about popped out of his skull.

From that second onwards, everything seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time, a strange combination that allowed total havoc to occur in complete clarity.

Beni, at lighting speed, moved to slam the door shut, as if the reality before him would reverse itself should this be achieved. Rick and Jonathan both dived forward and prevented him from doing so, slamming into the door and sending it crashing into the interior hallway wall.

A fox being chased by the hounds, Beni backtracked and sprinted off into the apartment. Ardeth had clocked his thought process, however, and took off after him at the ever-surprising speed of someone who had spent a lifetime running on sand.

Jonathan and Rick pushed themselves off the door and made to follow, but Perry was ahead of them. Bursting with sheer rage, she shot past them in a whirlwind of black clothes and Arabic profanities.

Beni screamed something intolerable and far too high-pitched for any male above the age of twelve, and grabbed a heavy, silver candlestick from a cabinet-top as he tore through the flat. He clumsily tried to hurl it over his shoulder at Ardeth, but missed by a long shot.

Without slowing down he slammed the entire weight of his sprinting body into the door of a back bedroom. Shrieking as he groped for the doorknob, Ardeth took two fistfuls of the back of Beni's shirt and aggressively flung him into the centre of the room.

Beni stumbled backwards and crashed into a grand piano, his backside playing a horrible, clamorous melody on the lower keys.

Bravely, he stood back up and tried to take a swing at the Medjai's face. But Ardeth dodged the punch with ease, and their proximity allowed him to bring his knee up into Beni's torso and knock the wind out of him.

Winded and unable to cry out, Beni tumbled to the floor. Not yet giving up, he tried to drag himself as far away from the enraged Egyptian man as he could, desperately pulling himself across the plush carpeting.

"You son of a bitch!" a woman screeched at him. Perry had caught up to them.

There was the unsettling noise of something heavy hurtling through the air. A sharp pain in the back of his head.

Beni blacked out.

* * *

"I can't believe _this_ arsehole is who we find in Marina's flat. Of all people!"

"Speaking of the devil, look who's waking up. Hiiii, Beni. Remember me?"

The voice of Jonathan Carnahan, flabbergasted and complaining, trickled into Beni's subconscious thoughts before he could even recall where he was and what was happening.

He opened his eyes and became aware of an uncomfortable throbbing sensation at the base of his skull, and then two overlapping, jostling images of Rick O'Connell were suddenly looming over him.

Oh yes, he remembered him. He tried to blink the American away. It didn't work.

"My friend," Beni slurred, still dizzied, and cracked a grin. "What a way to greet me. Such hatred, such violence. What have I done to deserve this?"

His vision steadying a little, he could see them all clearly now. And he became aware that he was strapped to a dining room chair, his restraints fashioned out of what appeared to be leather belts.

"Oh, I dunno, Beni," O'Connell said, feigning a befuddled demeanour. "I for one am just a teensy bit annoyed at you for taking a job under the genocidal undead priest that wants to enslave the human race. But I can't speak for anyone else here."

"That was, what? Seven, eight years ago?" Beni whined, cracking his yellow grin and shrugging within his binds. "It's in the past! Move on."

"I _had_ moved on, Beni. Because I thought you were dead."

"And I'm sure it was a terrible burden on your conscience," he said.

Just like old times, his smile seemed to simultaneously raise Rick's suspicions and piss him off.

"What are you even doing here?"

Beni looked around.

To his left, Ardeth Bay watched him, an unrelenting, bitter stare trained on his smallest movements. Further back, between the Medjai man and O'Connell, the Carnahan siblings both stood with their arms crossed.

And to his right, Pyrrah Ananka— or rather, a thinner, paler version of the Pyrrah he had seen last— stood stiff with an anger that sizzled just beneath her icy glare.

"This is my residency," Beni answered, finally.

"Alright, let's cut the horsefeathers," Jonathan snapped, and snatched a framed picture off the end table he had been lingering beside. He stomped forward and waved it in Beni's face.

"Is this you? The lady with the blonde hair, is that you? I don't think so!" he exclaimed. "So this isn't your apartment, because this is Marina Quatermain's apartment. And her photographs, and her stationary, and her goddamn grand paino, so start talking."

Beni rolled his eyes.  
"Marina has not been here for sixteen months. She is travelling. I am house sitting for her, okay?"

Jonathan turned his back on the Hungarian and shook his head at Rick.  
"I don't believe him."

"Looks like we're going to find my pal on the west bank," O'Connell muttered.

"I am telling the truth," Beni continued. "Believe me or not. Marina allows me to stay here. There are few other places in Cairo where I am so hidden from them."

"From who?" Evy asked.

"Not everybody can evade the cult as well as our friend, here," he said, and nodded towards Perry. "Where have you been, by the way?"

"Far from here, thanks to you," Pyrrah snapped.

"Wait, wait, what does he mean?" Evy tried to ask, turning to look at her.

"You see, I imagined you in a deep-Sahara tent with tattoo face and his clan. Or what is left of them." Beni suddenly gasped, dramatically feigning guilt over his own words, and looked to Ardeth. "Too soon? I am sorry, baratom, truly sorry—"

"Shut up, you vile little man!" Perry cried and started forward, but Rick blocked her from getting any closer to Beni's chair.

"Woah, what is he talking about?" he asked, a tad loudly for the close proximity they found themselves in. Perry still ignored him.

"Do you know how many deaths you were responsible for?" Ardeth said, quietly.

"_Indirectly_ responsible for," Beni clarified. "This is what you don't ever seem to understand—"

"Forty seven," Ardeth cut in. "Forty seven members of my tribe, my people. Slain at the hands of the creature's followers!"

"Who you informed!" Perry spat, over Rick's shoulder. "You rat!"

Beni jutted his jaw out at her and said, so sure of himself,  
"It is better to be on the right hand of the devil than in his path."

Jonathan, at the back of the room, was now brandishing two picture frames, one in each hand. Staring at the photographs within with great befuddlement, he yelled out, "Whose baby is this?!"

"WHAT is everybody talking about?" Rick barked.

Things quickly fell quiet. The tension in the room did not drop.

"I'm sorry, but did we miss something?" Evy asked after a moment, looking between Ardeth and Perry. "Perry?"

The little Egyptian woman finally tore her gaze away from Beni to find she had become the centre of attention.

Even Jonathan, having gingerly replaced Marina's photographs on their end table, was now staring at her in wait of some sort of explanation.

"What?" she said, and her voice came out quieter than she had anticipated.

"Is there something you've not told us?" Rick asked.

She shrugged a little, looking from face to face for a sign of relent.

"Umm... Well. Perhaps," she started, carefully, "I may have withheld some... information. Minor details. About things that occurred prior to my arrival in England. Maybe."

"What exactly didn't you tell them?" Ardeth asked.

Beni suddenly cackled. Howling with delight, he rocked backwards so much in his chair that he nearly tipped it over.

"You haven't told them anything?!" he shrieked, gleefully. "_Anything?!_ You left him! And went to _England_! And you didn't tell them all that had happened?!"

"Shut the hell up, Beni," Rick muttered, but the instruction lacked any vehemence. Beni cackled some more but gradually calmed himself.

"Oh, what a day this is turning out to be. What a reunion, szép munka, szép munka..."

"I think we need to step outside for a moment," Evelyn announced, and opened the door to the hallway.

Perry huffed and followed her out of the room, ignoring the looks she was receiving from all angles.

"Mum, what was all that shouting about?" Freddie asked her when they emerged from the lounge; he was sat cross-legged on the hallway carpet, and she gestured for him to get up.

"I can't explain right now, my sweet. Go and sit in that bedroom and close the door, please," she instructed him quietly, and ushered him away.

The last one out, Rick closed the lounge door rather forcefully, as if to tell Beni one extra time that they all hated him.

"Alright," Evy breathed, and put her hands on her hips. "Care to fill us in? Because we all know that that man is a wretched excuse for a human being, but there seems to be something he knows that we don't."

"And I, for one, don't appreciate that." Jonathan said, looking like he might begin pouting.

Perry took a steadying breath. All of a sudden she was shaking.

This wasn't the first time her decision to 'withhold information' had come back to bite her. She felt queasy.

_"Perry, what have you told them?"_ Ardeth asked her, this time in Arabic. He looked annoyed, concerned.

"Not much," she said, in English, eyes dropping to the floor.

_"About us?"_

"Nothing."

He turned away from them all and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"What?" Rick asked.

"Well, if you insist on me telling you this, even though I don't see how it assists our efforts to get Alex back, I'll start at Hamunaptra," Perry said, and decided to concentrate on the carpet as she spilled the beans.

"Firstly, I was the one who sunk it."

Three sets of eyes went wide.

"You? _You_ sunk Hamunaptra?" Rick repeated.

"Yes. It was an accident, of course, involving a lever... But I managed to escape with the Book of the Dead. Which I gave to the Medjai for safekeeping."

She didn't look up, but she could certainly imagine the expression on Evy's face.

"And, shortly after Ardeth and I met, we discovered that we had actually known each other as children. I am, in fact, one of the Medjai people."

"You're a Medjai?" Evy whispered.

"Yes, though I have no memories of that part of my life," Perry explained, rushing through every sentence as quickly as she could. "It's really a very long story—"

"Alright, alright, so you guys kept in touch?" Rick asked.

Perry stopped short. She looked at Ardeth, who just waited for her to continue.

"...Right?"

"Well, I suppose you could put it that way," she said, her voice nearly a whisper now. She felt very small. "Actually... We, um. We were engaged to be married."

The walls might have frozen over.

Rick and Evy looked to Ardeth as if to double check that this was true.

Jonathan looked like he was about to explode. His jaw hung open and his face was slowly turning red. Perry found herself praying in that moment that nobody would state the obvious. That the elephant in the room might be left alone.

_Don't piece it together. Don't announce it if you do._

"Holy shit," Rick said. "I had no idea."

"Of course, our plans were interrupted when this cult began slaughtering people in an effort to obtain the Scrolls of Thebes," Ardeth said, reluctantly recounting the events, "Which lead their holder to—"

"— The Bracelet of Anubis," Perry finished.

"So they've been planning this for a long time," Evelyn sighed. "What happened to the Scrolls of Thebes?"

"Oh. I destroyed them," Perry said.

"There seems to be a running theme, here," Jonathan remarked, and she frowned at him.

"The situation called for it," Ardeth said, in her defense.

"Yes. See, Ardeth had been shot, and he needed medical attention, so I called the only person I knew in Luxor at the time. Beni Gabor," Perry hurriedly rambled on. "And then we used Beni as a mole to infiltrate a cult gathering in Aswan. But he betrayed us."

"And they ambushed my tribe, burning down our homes and killing many of my people. Pyrrah destroyed the scrolls before they could obtain them, but they took the Book of the Dead from our possession," Ardeth went on.

"Which they just used to resurrect Imhotep." Evelyn concluded.

The Medjai nodded.

"And what happened to Beni being dead?" Rick asked. He was still annoyed by his former comrade's return to the ranks of the living.

"I knew he was alive," Perry admitted, meekly. "I was the only person who saw him leave Hamunaptra that day. I didn't expect him to be a problem again, but he kept coming to my house and pestering me. Asking questions about you."

She nodded towards O'Connell, who could only roll his eyes.

"And, in the end, I had to leave Cairo because Meela Nais knew where I lived. I worked for Marina Quatermain, and Meela funded and oversaw all of Marina's excavations," Perry went on, gesturing to the apartment around them, the home of her former boss. "It wasn't safe here anymore."

"You worked with that woman?" Rick snapped.

"For about a year."

"And, I'm sorry, why couldn't you stay with _him_?" Jonathan asked, stabbing a finger in Ardeth's direction. "After all that? Why did you come all the way across the pond and bother us?"

Perry narrowed her eyes at him.  
"If you must know, the Medjai blamed me for what happened."

"That is not true," Ardeth said to her.

"It is. I was no longer welcome to be the bride of the high chieftain, and it wasn't safe in the city, so I went to visit you," she said. "I hadn't planned on staying permanently, but—"

Her voice broke a little and she stopped speaking. To make her point, she waved a hand in the direction of the room Freddie was sitting in.

There was another moment's silence. Perry's anger was slowly resurfacing. She didn't enjoy being judged, and perhaps that was her reason for not telling Jonathan or the O'Connells the whole truth in the first place.

"Alright," Evy sighed. "If that's everything?"

"Basically," Perry said.

"Good."

"Okay. Well, now that's over with, let's decide what to do with that waste of oxygen in the next room," Rick said. "I vote we toss him in the Nile, but by all means let's brainstorm."

Perry was thankful that he was changing the subject. Things were still tense, but it was enough to make the lump in her throat less painful.

"Unfortunately, I cannot let you do that," Ardeth said. "He knows more than Pyrrah and I do about the cult. Consider the value of that information to us."

"Hate to say it, but we could get a leg up on them," Jonathan sighed, reluctantly. "If we squeeze him a bit, who knows what he might spew."

"You're suggesting what, then? That we drag him around with us?" Evy said, seeing the concept as ridiculous.

"Yes," Jonathan and Ardeth said simultaneously.

"O'Cooooooonnellll," Beni whined, his muffled voice trying its hardest to reach them through the heavy apartment doors.

"That man is the bane of my existence," Rick grumbled.

"If he's coming with us, he's not going anywhere near Freddie. No way. He stays away from my son," Perry stated, flat out.

"We need the Hungarian," Ardeth said. "Which brings us back to my previous offer."

Her shoulders dropped.  
"Ardeth."

"Pyrrah. It's what we need to do."

She let out a long breath and rubbed her face with her hands, whispering under her breath in Arabic.

"What's the plan?" Rick asked.

"The three of you take Gabor to your contact on the west bank and arrange our transportation," Ardeth said. "Pyrrah and I will take Freddie to my tribe, and leave him in the care of my family. He will be in good hands there."

Jonathan looked suddenly very concerned.  
"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course. It will also give me an opportunity to communicate with the other Medjai chiefs."

"Sounds swell," Rick said, and stepped aside as Perry brushed past him to retrieve her son. "I guess we'll see you later, then."

"What is the name of the man you will be meeting?" Ardeth asked, as the American prepared to step back into the lounge and give Beni a bit more hell.

He snorted to himself a little.

"Oh, his name's Izzy. Izzy Buttons."


End file.
